


Mr. Hale

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Spanking, Teacher/Student Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But, Mr. Hale, you can't fail me. I've been trying so <em>hard</em> this semester." Stiles leaned forward, one hand on the table before them, the other clutching the back of Peter's chair. He wasn't exactly shoving his neck in Peter's face, but he was getting close.</p><p>Peter looked up from his laptop, fingers stilled on the keys. "Really, Stiles? Now? Are you serious?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Hale

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, it's been forever since I've posted something.
> 
> Notes on dub-con below.

"But, Mr. Hale, you can't fail me. I've been trying so _hard_ this semester." Stiles leaned forward, one hand on the table before them, the other clutching the back of Peter's chair. He wasn't exactly shoving his neck in Peter's face, but he was getting close.

Peter looked up from his laptop, fingers stilled on the keys. "Really, Stiles? Now? Are you serious?" 

Stiles turned, pressing his ass against the table, hands coming behind him as he looked down at the man with half-lidded eyes. Biting his lip, he nodded and Peter had thought it was impossible to nod in a slutty way before he met Stiles. He had been sorely wrong. 

"I've been working myself without rest for months. Isn't there something I could do to make you reconsider my grade?" He smoothed out the mostly flat material on his pants leg at his thigh. Peter's eyes trailed up from that slowly, sitting back in his chair, and he stared. Crossing his legs, he gazed at the boy with languid heat building. 

"Mr. Stilinski, you can't just make up a whole semester's worth of credit. Your concentration is poor. You never turn in your work. You lack discipline. You can't expect to pass biology like this."

"But, Mr. Hale," Stiles said, with a smile he was obviously trying to smother into something more seductive. "I'm taking chemistry from you." 

Peter nearly rolled his eyes. "Of course." he said, flatly. "How could I have mixed them up? I must be distracted." 

"I know I get distracted sometimes." Stiles said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, pulling it up a little to tug at a string and almost revealing a slight show of pale skin. Peter kept his hands to himself and didn't force it up yet. "When you're at the board," he ducked his head expertly, "I get a little lost sometimes." 

"Lost?" Peter hummed, eyes still fixed on the little play of hand, pulling and tugging at the string, finger curling. "Don't tell me you get caught up thinking about _girls_ , Mr. Stilinski." 

"No, sir." Stiles said, catching the man's eye and offering him a soft, coy smile. "Not girls." 

Peter held his gaze for a moment. He almost looked at him a little too long, cataloging every eyelash, every smooth curve, every fluttering motion, and he almost ruined the game by pulling his boy close and kissing him right there. He glanced away for his own sake. He uncrossed his legs. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stilinski. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do." He leaned forward to get back on his laptop, and Stiles caught his hand. Peter's eyes snapped to Stiles's face again and watched as his hand was pulled up to the boy's wet, pink mouth He brushed Peter's index finger over his plush, bottom lip. Peter tried to look less affected than he was and knew he was failing. 

"Nothing at all?" Stiles murmured.

"Mr. Stilinski," Peter hushed, sounding more awed than affronted. "I've never - " Stiles opened his mouth, letting his tongue slip out, sucking the finger into his hot mouth. His boy's eyes drifted shut slowly, peeking open as he tried to keep himself from smiling. There was a silent pause, and then Peter said, "Bend over the desk and lower your pants."

Stiles flushed marvelously but didn’t move. “Gonna take your hand to me, sir?” 

“I did say you lacked discipline.” and, standing slowly, he watched Stiles scramble to do as asked, pulling down his khakis and underwear to his knees with an almost comical amount of enthusiasm. His cock, already red and hard, was nearly dripping as he placed both hands on the table, and then bent, resting his cheek on folded arms, his ass up.

“Like this?” Stiles asked, “Is this how you want me, sir?” 

Peter hummed an affirmation, a hand spanning over the boy’s asscheek, rubbing down to his upper thigh. Bringing his other hand up, he spread his cheeks to look at the boy’s hole, thumbing over it to hear Stiles’s breath hitch, just a little.

“Can you count?” Peter asked, smoothing a hand over his boy’s side. 

Stiles scoffed and said a snotty, “I’m failing _chemistry_ , not math.”

“Oh,” Peter said, carefully light. “Maybe I should have you recite the periodic table instead. Would you like to do that?”

“I can count,” Stiles assured him.

“And how high should you count?” Peter asked himself, pulling a hand back for just a moment so he could adjust his own quickly hardening cock. “Does twenty seem fair?”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Hale.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, sharply, and brought his hand down with a similar amount of force against the boy’s backside. While it startled him and undoubtably stung, his boy didn’t respond with more than a slight jerk. “Now, you know that’s not what I asked.” 

“Yes.” Stiles hurried, voice pitched higher. “That seems fair, Mr. Hale.”

Peter didn’t say much else after that besides a short, “Don’t say anything else besides your number.” before swatting the boy’s right cheek lightly. He repeated this treatment a number of times, alternating sides, keeping the bite out of it and saw his boy tentatively relax into the rhythm and force.

So, he reared up and slapped his hand down, using more of his strength.

Stiles stuttered forward, breath catching, whining. It took a moment, but he managed a tight, “Eight.”

Peter smirked and hit his other cheek, causing the boy to stammer. Peter couldn’t see it but he could scent that the boy’s cock had started to drip precome, trapped between him and the table, spitting all over wood. He thought momentarily about making Stiles clean it all up with his tongue and hit him again, harder.

“ _Ten_.” Stiles near-shouted, and buried his pink face in his arms. Eleven, twelve, and thirteen came in rapid succession, and Peter then abruptly left him, Stiles making some loose, lost sound in his throat.

“Stay there.” Peter ordered, and Stiles didn’t move as he strolled to his bedroom, finding his lube and meandering back. Stiles looked close to shaking, shuffling on his feet, ass dark pink. 

He placed the bottle of lube beside the boy’s hips without a word and smacked him again before the boy expected it. 

“Fifteen.” it sound liked Stiles said, his words muffled into the cradle of his arms. Peter, despite his near-perfect werewolf hearing, knew that he must have heard wrong, because that most certainly was not the next number and Stiles wasn’t crying enough to have forgotten where they were. And, he knew his boy was too smart to try and cheat out of his rightful punishment. 

Sweetly, he asked, “What was that? You’ll need to speak up. If I can’t understand you,” he hummed, one hand reaching down to soothe burning hot skin, “Or you say anything besides the correct number, we’ll have to add ten more.”

Peter delighted in the little gasping intake of breath and smiled when his boy said, “Fourteen.”

Fifteen through seventeen were harder than the last, and Peter took his time with these, mostly because seventeen had caused Stiles to cry out and he had needed longer to say his part.

At eighteen, Peter popped the lube open and slicked his fingers. Spreading the boy’s cheeks made him tense, and rubbing a circle around his rim made Stiles hiccup some faint, open-mouthed cry that wasn’t nearly loud enough. Peter started to ease his first finger inside. Stiles didn’t make any noise at that, and had grown very still, and Peter decided that simply wouldn’t do. 

He pumped the finger in a few times, letting it curl, sucked into the boy’s soft heat. Adding more slick and another finger finally got a response out of the boy. He pushed his hips back a little, moaning weakly, turning so his cheek could rest on his folded arms and Peter could watch him. 

His face had passed pink to red and Peter could see the blush trailing down his neck, past his shirt, which must have been hot and over-stuffy at this point. He could scent the boy’s sweat and arousal from where he stood, but he lent forward anyway, three fingers now twisting and spreading in, searching for what would really make Stiles cry out. With his free hand, he pulled the collar of his shirt down, pressing his mouth to the side of his now bared neck. 

His fingers crooked in deeper, rubbing mercilessly at something that had Stiles groaning harshly. His teeth beginning to worry the boy’s pink-tinted skin, he finally got the boy whining, starting to ramble, “Oh fuck oh Peter oh please don’t st - I’m gonna - I’m gonna - ” and he did, shooting hard and untouched while Peter pulled back and removed his fingers 

“What did I say about speaking?” he demanded, guiding the boy’s hips back, his wet hand snaking between them to catch and tug Stiles’s softening cock, making him cry out.

“That hurts, _stop_.” Stiles groaned, trying to wriggle away as Peter stroked his oversensitive dick, pulling him hard again.

“We’re already up to thirty.” Peter told him, mildly. “Would you like to add ten more?”

Stiles, hiding his face again, shook his head and said nothing, letting Peter play with his cock until it was hanging stiff again. 

Peter struck him again, not holding anything back, and Stiles barely choked out, “Nineteen.” Another was rewarded with Stiles legs really starting to quiver, his back shaking with tension and something that sounded like a sobbed, “ _Twenty_.”

At twenty-six, Peter dropped to his knees, holding the boy apart again and capturing his puffy, pink hole in a kiss.

Stiles keened and actually seemed to be crying now, barely able to keep himself from talking, breathless, hitching little, “ _Sto - Nn - I -_ ” which Peter allowed out of the kindness of his heart. He lapped at the hole, a slight sound leaving his own throat as his senses were overloaded with _Stiles_ , but it was swallowed up by the now incessant noises now leaving Stiles’s mouth. 

He got a hand on the boy’s dick, working a fist around it as he stabbed his tongue inside and ate the leftover lube out of him. Stiles wailed, and Peter thumbed the head of his cock, smearing precome and then vicing the shaft again.

Pulling away, Peter murmured, “Are you going to be good for me and come?” his hand tightened at the wrecked whine he got in response. He dipped his thumb into the boy’s hole to pull it open for a quick lick inside before saying, “I want you to come now.” 

It took one more tight pump of his fist and him burying his face in the boy’s ass, but Stiles did come, shouting loud and open, crying as he came down, trembling. 

Peter stood and wiped his mouth. His fingers ghosted over where he was sure Stiles would be bruised in a few hours. Stiles hadn’t quite stopped sobbing when Peter spanked him again, and the noise Stiles made was broken and keening. 

“Twenty-” and Stiles seemed to get stuck, sobbing loud as he tried to say, “Twenty-” once more. He started to shake even harder, whining wordlessly, crying, “Twenty-”

“Twenty-seven.” Peter prompted, softly. 

“Twenty-seven.” Stiles repeated, body hitching as he tried to calm down. 

“Only three more. Can you make it?” Stiles nodded into his arms and exhaled slowly, loudly, through his mouth. 

The next one wasn’t light, but Peter refrained from using his full force, and Stiles said the number in a rush of breath. Peter pet down his back, giving him a moment before doing it again.

“One last time,” he said. “Are you going to let me fuck you afterwards?” he murmured, pressing hard against tender flesh.

The choked out noise Stiles made sounded aroused enough to be an answer, so Peter spanked him one last time, wasting no time unzipping his pants and pulling his painfully stiff cock out. He grabbed the lube to slick up his dick and dipped a few wet fingers inside his boy just to check that he was prepped sufficiently. 

He eased himself in, his boy pliant, quiet, only making small, soft sounds as Peter rolled his hips forward. When he got a hand around Stiles’s throat and guided him up, pumping forward in a short thrust, his hips slapping against the boy’s ass, Stiles keened something much louder, unable to stop himself. From there, it seemed the perfect position, Peter able to thrust up, one hand on the boy’s hips, keeping him still, the other around his throat, keeping him standing.

He could feel his claws pricking out and tried not to break skin, but his boy could most definitely feel it. As it was, Peter didn’t think he’d be able to hold off for long, already close to release before he’d even entered the boy.

The hand on the boy’s hip curled around to cup his cock one again, finding it half-hard. Peter worked to get him hard one last time, a small growl slipping from his throat at the low, pained moan Stiles obviously tried to muffle.

“You’re doing so well.” Peter cooed to him, slowly slamming his hips up, pounding against abused flesh. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?” Stiles’s head was thrown back, resting against Peter’s shoulder so the man could see how screwed up his face was, eyes scrunched closed, perfect between pain and pleasure, mouth gaped open, unable to keep the string of senseless sounds blocked. “You can do it again for me. I know you can.” But Peter was trying hard to stave off his own orgasm and was slowly losing the fight. Stiles was warm in his hand and hot around him, and Peter was coming, slowing his pace, pumping his hips a few last times, feeling himself relax into the boy he was holding. 

There was a moment after where he simply stood with him, listening to the wet, snuffling sound of the boy’s breath. Gently, he pulled out and spun Stiles around, falling to his knees, glancing up at him once before taking him into his mouth. 

He kept it slow and his eyes closed. His fingers curled around the boy’s thighs, just below where the bright red markings started, trying to hold him steady as he swallowed around his cock. Stiles shook, wavering on his feet, so Peter withdrew one of his hands to grasp the boy’s, pulling it to his own hair. Once Stiles’s fingers were gripped in his hair, he seemed to balance, like the contact grounded him. His other hand trailed up and joined his first, and he gave a tiny roll of his hips and a faint but wholly pleased sound. 

Peter peeked his eyes open to catch a glimpse of Stiles’s pink and tear-stained face now slack. His mouth opened and closed, his tongue dipping out to wet his dry, chapped lips. He met the man’s gaze and looked overcome. 

It took a while, but Stiles seemed to enjoy it. Peter started to leech pain halfway through, one hand gripping this thigh, the other trailing up to run his fingers over the spunk leaking out of his hole, Stiles moaning loud and appreciative as he felt the throbbing in his ass disappear. 

Stiles’s final orgasm came gently, with only a little, choked sound as warning, his release spilling into Peter’s mouth and Stiles slumping, exhausted.

He swallowed and pulled off, and Stiles, breath heavy, kept him there, face tipped up, with an unmoving hand on his head. “So, Mr. Hale,” he managed, panting, “Do I pass?”

Peter snorted. “Mr. Stilinski, you pass with flying colors. A+.”

Stiles dragged him up and kissed him a little desperately, smelling like sweat and satisfaction. Peter was content to kiss him there for the next hour or day or week, smoothing his hands over his boy’s still-trembling sides, but Stiles drew back to say, “Maybe next time we can actually get naked.” With shaking fingers, he tried to remove the man’s shirt, but the task proved a little difficult with his whole body quaking like it was. Peter caught and stilled his hands.

“Well,” Peter hummed, reaching up to tug Stiles’s shirt off and then his own. “You _did_ surprise me.” He used one of them to clean off the come drying on the boy’s stomach. 

Scoffing, albeit weakly, Stiles told him, “I think you surprised me more.” Peter helped steady him as he stepped out of his pants, which had pooled around his ankles towards the end. “My ass is gonna be bruised.”

“Yes, well,” Peter said, trying to think of something clever to say as Stiles turned to better show him. Peter lost his words at the sight, eyes taking in his dark red ass and the come trailing down his thigh. His hands clenched the shirt helplessly. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Stiles exhaled, looking over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, as Peter dabbed at the leaking ejaculate carefully. “You like that?” Peter gave him an unimpressed look, tossing the shirt-rag aside, and Stiles turned back to face him, catching his cheek, pecking him on the lips. “I do too. Although, I don’t know how I’m gonna sit for a week. You’re going to have to be with me constantly. I’m officially making you my pain-drain slave.”

Peter tried to look earnest and remorseful, which he was aware wasn’t a look he could pull off. “If that’s what it takes, I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.” 

Stiles slapped him lightly on the arm, and Peter took his hand, warming it in his own. “Take me to bed,” he demanded. “I feel like I just went though the most intense frat hazing ritual. I’m exhausted and - ” he cut himself off to look at his uncaught hand, watching his fingers quiver.

So Peter lead him to the bedroom, Stiles showing more and more visible signs of fatigue with each step.

“You can take my pain for a few minutes,” and he was interrupted by a yawn, “And then you can make me dinner.” 

Peter started to ease him onto his stomach and under the warm covers. His hand pet over the boy’s lower back, stealing away discomfort. 

“What a coincidence. That’s exactly what I wanted to do.” 

Stiles seemed close to drifting, but he still managed, “That’s what’s so great about us. Shared goals. Power couple.” before falling asleep.

Peter stayed until he was sure his boy was alright, and then stood, going to turn off the lights and clean up their mess and start cooking, quietly, listening to the boy’s slowed heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Dub-con note: Stiles says stop to something Peter does, and Peter doesn't. Safe words aren't discussed, so we can't assume they're being used. Neither of the characters view this is a big deal ultimately. 
> 
> Okay, wow, so, it's been a while. I was just super stressed with the end of my summer classes, so this happened. I hope it's okay. Have a nice day, everyone!
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


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